A Story to Unfold
by sweetmari
Summary: Looking down and pushing the fabric of his cloak away, only to look into a soft wrinkled face with one inch of brown curly hair Arram spoke softly with a tone that held a fateful promise as he took very carefully steps over the undergrowth; "I'm always going to look after you, whatever happens – I'll promise" and with that said to the forest as the only listeners, he made his way


_Disclaimer; The universe as for the characters belongs to TP. _

**'A Story to Unfold'**

_**By Sweetmari **_

**Prologue **

The forest was endless.

As the boy, not older than ten years old ran and ducked from his persecutors the silence of the forest was a massive presence around him.

The only thing that could be heard was his own frantic breathing and his heart that threatened to bust of its place in his chest. Underneath his feet the soft masses of precious green spread like a carpet giving shelters to small insects and other things that needed to escape the sparse light that floated down through the treetops.

It was in the middle of marts and inside this secret land of oak, beech, chestnut and spruce a secret held its breaths, only to gasp for air as the boy continued his running. One hand balancing on a smooth rock while jumping and fleeing what ever that was hunting him.

He had been bad. Very bad and he knew it, and it was why he was now sitting behind a boulders, trying to catch his breath, but as voices reached his ears, he found that he was soon again forced to his feet and run.

He was really running in a very overly large circle around his home, a huge fortress with heavy iron-gates, and he knew that his persecutors would catch him as they had done multiple time before – what they and he didn't know was that this very day where the first rays of spring flashed to warm the undergrowth a child would be born, only to be orphan right from the very first screaming breathe it would take.

And such, he faltered in his running, not seeing the log that lay from a huge oak. Smashing heavily down, not managing to get his hands positioned right, his head struck a stone and everything went black.

Such, Arram Draper, woke several hours later, laying in the middle of a deathly silenced forest with blood running down over his left eyebrow. The twilight had settled around him and being deep within the forest, he was lost. His persecutors would have given up eventually and returned to the fortress. He knew that once he returned he was going to face the consequences of his actions, but that did not frightened him or worried him now.

A small orb of black fire that sparkled with white erupted from the boy and he looked down on the liquid that colored his hand red. "Curse it" he breathed and rubbed his hand in his cotton breeches. Checking himself over to see where he could be hurt, he quickly turned as a sound reached him.

"Whose there?" he shouted, feeding more power into the orb over his head, giving more vision to his dark and hazel eyes. An owl hooted somewhere nearby. Turning one way and another the strange and unnatural sound didn't repeat itself until he was considering which directions he should take.

At an age of ten, he was more powerful gifted then some of the other children living and being educated in the art of the gift, and he could very well, though he wasn't suppose to do it yet, see the small traces of aura's that floated from the fortress.

Choosing a direction he took a step forth, but stopped abruptly as the erupted and scared a small rabbit to flee from its hiding-place in front of him.

Arram turned. His ears and mind restraining to compile the information given to him by that sound and no he froze completely in his tracks. That couldn't be, he began to think, but turned around anyway.

Taking careful steps in the other direction then he was supposed to take, he caught the sound again and his heart stopped in its beating; why was a child crying heartbreaking in the middle of the forest. He knew that the nearest village was miles away to the boys in the fortress could exercise their gift under the guidance of the priests without hurting any commoners.

Pushing himself forth, sliding down over mossy rocks, he followed the sound and came to a clearing he never had met before.

Here the sound of the child was higher, demanding for any attention it could receive. Adding just enough power to illuminate the space in front of him completely a sigh met him.

A single form laying, unmoving in the beginning light of a full moon at the base of a large rock, filled his eyes. The screaming continued and Arram pushed the branches away, so he could emerge from the forest.

With every step the form that rested by the rock became clear and a very young woman sat with her head dropped down on her chest. Her hands resting on the fabric of her dress. The blond hair blocking her face.

He squatted down and reached cautious hand out to stroke the hair away "Mistress?" he whispered with his voice barely audible, "are you alright?"

The screaming of a child still continued to fill his ears, but his attention was turned to the woman.

No answer came.

He touched her cheek, her skin cold underneath his warm fingers and with dread lingering in every fiber of his body, Arram pushed the hair to the side and lifted the woman's face.

Blue clouded eyes stirred into his and he flinched back, pushing himself away, over the ground as quickly as he could manage. The woman was dead.

Panting, gasping for air he came to his feet. Only now he noticed that the woman's skirt was bloody and the sound of the crying child came from underneath the fabric. Walking forth he hesitated, taking a deep breath and lifted the skirt up.

The crying became louder as the only thing that kept the child warm was gone. He stirred in shock and quickly pulled of his cloak. Spreading it on the ground he pushed the dead woman's skirt up and revealed a squirming bloody infant; a girl.

Not sure how to handle the child, he gently pushed his hand under the girl's head and under her back, lifting her over to where his woolen cloak lay, waiting to be wrapped around the small and cold body.

He was about to lift the fabric of his clock when his eyes caught the umbilical cord; the woman hadn't managed to live long enough to cut it over. Luckily, he always carried a small knife in his left boot and with shaking hands, the girl was separated from her dead mother.

"Shh" he hushed the crying infant and quickly wrapped the fabric around the girl's exposed body. He remained near the woman for some time, hoping beyond hope that someone would come and find the woman, but after a while and when no-one coming, he rose from the ground.

Looking down the stopped, standing before the mother of the screaming child he held in his hands – he repeated a prayer to the Great Mother Goddess and the Black God while cradling the child within his arms.

He couldn't bury the woman or allow her to be consumed by his gift, he was running low and if he was to make it back to the fortress, he was going to use every last strain he had. "I'm sorry" he whispered quietly and looked down to the swathed infant in his arms; "I promise that I'll take good care of her".

With the words hanging in the air, in the clearing, he left it behind and began his journey back to his home. Looking down and pushing the fabric of his cloak away, only to look into a soft wrinkled face with one inch of brown curly hair Arram spoke softly with a tone that held a fateful promise as he took very carefully steps over the undergrowth; "I'm always going to look after you, whatever happens – I'll promise" and with that said to the forest as the only listeners, he made his way home.


End file.
